


touch

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-04
Updated: 2007-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Some things you can't know, can't understand, without touch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself to this thing, but you know what? I’m going to be the one to bury you._

 

Those words echoed in Sam’s ears; the seriousness in his brother’s voice, on his face. But there was more to it than that; he could see the pain behind his brother’s carefully guarded eyes. Behind the anger and the seriousness, he could see it. 

 

Dean would never admit to it. He couldn’t even remember the last time his brother had told him he loved him. Hell, he could probably count on one hand how many times he heard those words from his brother’s mouth. Or how many times his brother had ever said anything beyond superficial to him. 

 

To hear Dean say he was proud of him, that he admired something about him had been enough to knock Sam on his ass. Since then he’d found himself looking at Dean differently, more closely as if making sure it was still his brother.

 

But now…his brother was being as open and honest with him as he could be. His voice was angry, raw and it clawed at his heart. He didn’t want to hurt his brother for anything in this world, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

 

This demon had killed his mother, had killed Jess. Was he supposed to just forget that and follow Dean blindly, as Dean blindly followed their father? He couldn’t do that. He’d never been able to do that.

 

He trusted his brother, would do anything for him. 

 

Anything. 

 

But he was such a god damn little soldier when it came to their father and it killed him. It was like his loyalty to Sam was nothing compared to Dean’s loyalty to their father. It was stupid for him to be jealous of their father, he knew that, but it didn’t change the way he felt when he saw his brother give another ‘yes, sir’ and then shut his mouth no matter how badly he wanted to do otherwise. 

 

His jaw clenched tightly, his muscles straining as he forced back whatever smartass remark he had, whatever worry or anger. But he did it. He shut himself the fuck up and went on like the soldier he was. 

 

Sam was different. He wouldn’t be his father’s little soldier. Wouldn’t follow him blindly. He didn’t have the same kind of faith in his father as he had in Dean. And the really fucked up thing was that as much as he protested and fought it he had followed his brother blindly. 

 

Granted it was with much bitching and protesting, but he always caved. 

 

How could he not? 

 

Dean had taken care of him, healed every wound inside and out and never once bitched about the things he’d lost out on. The dates, the girls, school, a future, a chance at a normal life. All the things that Sam had fought for, had gained in some small way, his brother had given up willingly. 

 

Without a single fucking complaint. Like the good little soldier he was. 

 

Sometimes he wanted to do something to shake that. To confuse his brother and force him to let something out beside his anger. To make his brother share the pain he knew he must feel, to share anything he felt besides that violent rage that roared inside him. 

 

He wanted, just once, for Dean to come after him after a fight. When he punched Sam in his big mouth, to do more than look at him in agony and then let Sam leave. He wanted Dean to try to apologize, to put his arm around him and hug him. 

 

Do any of the things he had once done when they were children, to make things right instead of some lame smartass remark later on. 

 

But they weren’t children. 

 

They were adults, grown men, and that kind of thing wasn’t okay. Not in Dean’s eyes and not in their father’s. Sam wasn’t Dean and he wasn’t his father. He craved his brother’s touch so much sometimes he ached. 

 

All he wanted was a hug, a gentle cuff on the back of his neck, something to assure him that they were still those same brothers that had clung to each other in the dark when their father was gone.

 

Sam of course was always the one to start it, to crawl into his brother’s bed only moments after he heard his father’s truck roar away to his next hunt while he left his son’s in some dingy motel room or some run down house they had rented for longer stays. 

 

Dean always got angry, pushed at his chest and ordered him back to his own bed. That same damn standard speech his father had given them about being too old to share a bed, to hold each other that way on his lips.

 

He would roll his eyes and slide beneath the sheets. His brother wouldn’t send him back to his own bed, he’d give in and throw an arm over his chest and fall right back to sleep. There wasn’t anything wrong with what they were doing and they both knew it. 

 

Their father just didn’t understand that sometimes they needed to be reminded that there was someone there for them, someone who gave a damn. It was times like that, that Sam truly felt safe and not so damn alone.

 

There were other things his brother did that made him feel less alone, like the wicked smirk he gave him before knocking him on his ass or shooting his mouth off. Or when he would cuff him on the back of the neck and call him Sammy. The proud look on his face when Sam came home with an A or when he came out of dad’s training without losing his cool. 

 

But none of that was the same as his brother’s touch.

 

It made him feel solid, grounded, like there was more than the hunt. 

 

Dean would deny it now. Say that Sam had been just a kid and of course he took care of him…but now he wouldn’t dream of comforting him the way he used to. Not even a god damn _I got you Sammy._

 

That was all in the past though and he knew now as his brother glared at him, accusing him with his eyes of leaving him, of running away from him again that those days were over. 

 

If he tried to touch Dean he’d be on his ass in a minute, the imprint of his brother’s fist on his face for days. But he didn’t know what to say to him either. He had to do this. For his mother, for Jess, for dad, and more than anyone for Dean. 

 

When this was over Dean would be free. 

 

He could do what he wanted with his life for once, even if that meant never speaking to Sam again. Whatever it was he would give anything to give it to his brother, to make him feel safe like he had always done for him.

 

He stared back at his older brother, his hands fisted in his jacket pockets. He was trying so hard not to reach out to his brother that he was shaking. 

 

His pain and need for his brother to be his brother again, to be anything other than the shell that stood glaring at him now, quickly turned to anger. It was the only emotion he could safely have in front of him.

 

“What the hell do you want from me Dean? You’re the one that pulled me out of Stanford. I thought you wanted me here with you,” he ground out angrily. 

 

Dean sighed heavily and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I do want you here Sammy.”

 

He turned his head quickly to the side to hide the pain that he knew Dean would see. Dean saw everything, noticed everything. He was just dense sometimes. He couldn’t even say that he wanted Sam here with him. He’d barely managed to get out that he wanted him here at all. 

 

“Then what are you saying Dean? You want me here but you don’t want me to fight? You want me to just sit around and wait for you to do the hero thing?”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying! I just-“he stopped, shaking his head. This was going nowhere fast and if Sam kept it up things were going to be said that neither of them meant. Or things that he didn’t mean and Sam probably did. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t hurt for his little brother to be here, to be so close and so far away from him. But he couldn’t lie to himself forever. Sam had run away once, he would do it again as soon as this was over. That is if he lived through it. 

 

Sam took a few steps forward before catching himself. 

 

What the hell did he think he was doing? He needed to get himself under control here. 

 

“Then what? I don’t know what to do here anymore.” _I don’t want to hurt you,_ he thought desperately. _But I can’t take the way things are between us._

 

God why couldn’t he say those things to his brother? Why couldn’t he just admit that he needed Dean; that it wasn’t the apple pie life he wanted? He just wanted away from that hunger, that fear that filled him whenever his brother left on a hunt. Wicked grin in place and a quick wink before some cocky, self assured remark and then he was out the door.

 

He couldn’t take sitting there waiting, worrying. 

 

Sometimes the fear was so great he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

 

Dean had found him more than once like that, doubled over and gasping for breath, his entire body shaking. Then he could have told him those things, could have made him see that he had left because he couldn’t stand to watch his brother leave him. That he had left to keep himself from being left.

 

But Dean wouldn’t understand that. He’d tell him that was stupid, even if he was doing the leaving he was still losing his brother. It wasn’t the same though, not to Sam. 

 

If Sam left he could come back. 

 

If Dean left him…it was permanent. 

 

And permanent he couldn’t deal with.

 

“You fight and then when it’s all over you go back to your fricken apple pie life,” Dean bit out.

 

”I don’t want that!” Sam snapped. “I don’t want to go back to Stanford, I don’t want that life!” _But I don’t want this one either,_ he thought. _I don’t want us jumping down each other’s throats. I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want you to hate me._

 

His confession took Dean by surprise, his brother’s once angry face now uncertain. Good. For once Dean wasn’t going to be in control of this conversation. He wasn’t going to accuse Sammy of running off and leaving them, even if it was true in some ways. 

 

He wasn’t going to listen to Dean’s crap anymore and know that what he really means to say is _you left me Sammy. How could you leave me?_

 

He can’t stand to see his brother’s silent pain. 

 

Dean swallowed hard. “What do you want Sammy?” he asked huskily. 

 

The tone of his voice went straight to Sam’s groin. _You,_ he thinks, _I just want you._

 

But he can’t say that. 

 

He knows how Dean will react to that. The confusion and then the disgust, anger. 

 

Always anger. 

 

Maybe even betrayal. 

 

And he can’t have that, can’t stand that. 

 

He needs his brother, even if that means not having him. 

 

“Forget it,” he says quietly. 

 

“No, Sammy, you brought it up! Tell me what you want,” Dean pushes. 

 

He shouldn’t push. Not now, not when Sam’s so close, so ready to tell Dean how badly he needs to feel him. So Sam opened his mouth, ready to tell his big brother just what the fuck it was he wanted and just how badly he wanted it when he realized that he would only hurt Dean more.

 

Dean was pushing him, was fucking pushing every one of his buttons, but this wasn’t something he could take back. He couldn’t tell Dean later that he didn’t mean it, because it wouldn’t be true and because Dean would never believe it. Once that was out in the open, it was out in the open. 

 

He shook his head, jaw clenching tighter as he glared at his brother. He couldn’t do it. As badly as he wanted to push Dean, to shut him up, he couldn’t hurt him like that. 

 

Sam muttered a pathetic, “fuck you” and turned away, heading back to the car. 

 

Whatever shit Dean had going on they could work out later, because right now he was just too close to the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: Hey guys, sorry it took so long to update this one! Or any of them really. I love you guys so much for reviewing! This will probably be the only update for a little while, I'm putting together a portfolio of sorts, checking out some writing schools. I think it's time to make a change. You guys keep me going tho! Your encouragement and criticism are in fact decorating my portfolio so that every time I second guess myself, I have you guys to keep me going. Lol okay this has become too long and you're probably like shut the hell up. So here it is!  


* * *

_This table has taken a turn for the worst._

_Rock bottom and over the edge_

_well it's not like it hurts that much anyway_

_“Shhh, Sammy,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep. “Don’t cry.”_

_“I’m not crying,” Sam said stubbornly, the long sniffle after lending little credibility to his protests. He hadn’t meant to wake Dean. He’d been as quiet as possible, but as usual Dean was there for him._

_“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed. He lowered himself down to the bed beside him, and placed his hand to his brother’s lower back._

_Sam jerked away as if he’d been burned, quickly sitting up to glare at Dean. He wasn’t a baby; he didn’t need his brother to jump every time he had a nightmare. He’d done just fine this past week. Refusing Dean’s touch or comforting words after every nightmare. He hated the look of confusion and hurt in Dean’s eyes, but he had to do this. He had to put some sort of distance between himself and Dean or his touch would be their own undoing._

_Dean sighed and shoved Sam back on the bed. “Look Sammy, you need the sleep. You’ve been like this every night this week. What the hell’s the matter with you? You used to love it when I-“_

_“I’m not a baby,” he interrupted. It was a weak excuse, but he’s got nothing else. It was simple enough to be plausible. He was sixteen and the fact that he wakes up crying in the middle of the night for his older brother should embarrass him after all. But it doesn’t. His only shame was the secret feelings he harbored for Dean._

_“I know you’re not,” Dean soothed, pushing the hem of Sam’s t-shirt up to his chest. He rested his hand against the warm flesh of his belly. His fingers splayed out, barely brushing the top of Sam’s boxers._

_Sam’s hand covered his as he stared up at his brother for a long moment, before turning his head away in shame. Those thoughts were always there, fighting their way to the front of his mind. Thoughts that Dean would surely kill him for and whether he did or not, would send him to hell. But he couldn’t help it. It was like when his brother touched him everything else melted away. All he could hear was the blood rushing through him and the soft sound of Dean’s voice._

_“Sammy? What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing,” he choked out, swallowing hard as his brother shifted closer. Distance, he needed distance. It didn’t matter how pointless it was, he needed it like he needed Dean’s touch._

_“Sammy,” Dean scolded._

_“You were right,” he muttered, lamely. “I can’t sleep.” It was the only truth he could give him. He rolled over onto his stomach, hoping his brother would take the hint._

_He didn’t._

_Dean slid his hand up Sam’s shirt, rubbing slow circles on his back. Sam tried to bite back a sigh, but he couldn’t help it. It’d been too long since Dean had done this, since he’d been able to really sleep. He could feel himself giving in, his will to protect Dean pathetically almost nonexistent._

_He whimpered quietly as he felt sleep pulling him back under, that last, unwarranted wave of fear washing over him. Then his brother leaned forward, his lips brushing gently against his ear and his chest pressing into his back_

_“I’ve got you Sammy, just sleep.” Then his lips were pressed firmly to his temple, his hand still moving slowly over his bare skin._

_“Dean,” he said thickly._

_“Hmm?”_

_He sighed again as he felt Dean’s answer vibrate through him. Only realizing he had said his name when he felt Dean’s voice course through his body again._

_“I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”_

_Dean laughed quietly. “I’ll never leave you, Sammy. Now sleep.”_

_Upside down and inside out._

_When I leave here I'm going alone._

_Well it's not like, it not like it hurts much anyway._

 

Sam slammed his fist against the wall as tears filled his eyes. Things would never be like that again. His brother could never accept his apology or let him make things right. The days that he could find comfort in Dean’s touch were over. I’ll never leave you had turned into how can I when you’re the one that left me? And he wasn’t sure which was worse.

 

Jamming his hands in his eyes to stop the hot tears he gave up waiting for Dean to come back. After storming back to the car Dean had driven to the nearest motel and dropped him off. He hadn’t bothered to ask where Dean was going, because it was as obvious as it was pathetic how he knew him so well. Sam reluctantly gave up the hope that things could change between them and decided to do a little self medicating instead.

 

xXx

 

Dean tripped not once, but _twice_ , on the way to the motel room. He wasn’t drunk, not yet anyway. But he was still having a hard time getting back to the room. He thought it had more to do with the fact that Sam was waiting for him then anything. He knew his limit when it came to drinking, and he hadn’t come anywhere near it.

 

Swallowing the irritation at what was more than likely to greet him, he kicked open the door and nearly let it bounce back and him in the face. Instead of a pacing, angst ridden younger brother ready to lay into him all over again, he found Sam doubled over on the floor in the middle of their motel room, a bottle of Mexico’s favorite tipped over on the carpet. Nearly empty. His body was shaking and if Dean wasn’t already half drunk himself, would have sworn that he heard Sam sobbing. Not just gasping, but _sobbing_.

 

He dropped to his knees in front of his brother, grasping hold of his shoulders tightly. “Sam?”

 

His head lifted slowly. An agonized look of panic greeted him. It was only there for a second, before it changed to something much more broken. His eyes went wide, puppy dog like, as if he were pleading with Dean.

 

The look on his face tore Dean’s heart out. A gasp ripped from his throat as Sam, seemed to somehow shrink into his self with the next whimper.

 

“Sam, what’s wrong?” He asked, trying not to panic now.

 

He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this for Sam. To make his pain go away. There’s been too much between them, too much distance and pain.

 

The only explanation Dean could come up with for Sam’s behavior, is that he’s remembering Jess again. That knowing she’s gone, has finally become just too much for him. And he blames Dean now, pleading with him to forgive him for feeling this way. Needing Dean to say it’s okay to hate him.

 

Part of him wanted to beg him for it, to plead with Sam to hate him. To make all these thoughts, all these feelings go away, and to just stop his baby brother’s heart from breaking. The other part, the selfish part, wanted him to say it’s not his fault and that he loves him as much as he ever did.

 

Sammy whimpered again, no longer Sam, but _Sammy_. This time more pathetically, if that was possible. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, tilting his head back down.

 

xXx

 

_Oh, did I mention when I see you it stings like hell?_

_To the fact that we could have something that'll never happen._

 

He couldn’t stand to look at Dean, to see that worry or the hands gripping him so tightly. To be so thrilled by it. He didn’t deserve that worry or his touch. He deserved his brother’s hate, and his anger, but not his love.

 

Leaving had been the right thing to do. Leaving had been a mistake.

 

He’d screwed up too many lives with that decision. His father’s, his brother’s, Jess’s. If she had never met him she’d be alive, back at Stanford and dating someone that could give her the things she deserved. The things he couldn’t, even before this mess had come his way.

 

It was too late to go back and change things, to make a different decision. But it wasn’t too late for him to change the way he’d been acting. Foolish and impulsive, needing desperately to end the fight that had been the driving force behind their lives. The faster they killed the yellow eyed demon, the faster he could move on and ruin a few more lives.

 

Thinking about it was useless. Crying over it was even worse. But the alcohol had taken that choice from him and now he was sobbing like an idiot in front of Dean. Dean who hated big emotional scenes. Dean who couldn’t even tell Sam that he was wanted.

 

xXx

 

Dean who was confused. What did Sam have to be sorry about? He had just come back from doing the same thing, what was the difference? Unless he was talking about their fight earlier, or the fact that he does blame Dean. But that was just as stupid.

 

They fought all the time and Sam had never broken down like this over it before. As for Jess, well, they both knew that Dean blamed himself for that as well.

 

“For what?” he asked quietly, one hand slipping up to the back of Sam’s neck, almost involuntarily. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to slip back into that routine. At least with Sam as hurt as he was. It couldn’t be wrong to touch Sam then, could it?

 

“I didn’t want to,” Sam swore. “I didn’t want to, but I had to do it, Dean. I had to. Please believe me, please!”

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. What are you talking about?” He tried to calm Sam down, to get him to make some sense.

 

Sam slowly tilted his face back up to Dean, and swallowed hard, a tremble running through his body “I left,” he said miserably. “I left you.”

 

And then he was whimpering again, trying to withdraw from Dean’s strong grip on his shoulders. Next came the pleading; the mumbled sounds of _pleasedean_ and _sosorry_ , all he could make out of his brother’s child like break down.

 

“Sammy,” Dean breathed, folding his too tall brother against his chest. “Don’t cry.”

 

_This balance has weighed out our heart's desire._

_I'm trying to make it alone._

_Well it's not like it hurts that much anyway._

 

He couldn’t stand to watch Sam cry like that, especially over him. If he had just stopped his bitching they wouldn’t be here like this, his baby brother tucked against his chest, Dean’s chin resting on top of Sam’s head as he snuggled further against him.

 

Sam nuzzled his neck; his arms tightly wound around Dean in a death grip, trying desperately to climb into his brother’s lap, _inside_ his brother. Dean fell back, helping his brother into his lap.

 

He knew he shouldn’t. That Sam would be embarrassed about this later, that he would be too. But that didn’t stop him from doing it. From wanting to soothe his brother with soft touches and murmured affections, like he did when they were younger. When it was okay for him to hold Sam like this.

 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, the words _I love you_ and _No, Sammy, no_. heavy on the tip of his tongue. He bit down on that. “Tell me what to do, to make this better, Sammy. Tell me.”

 

This was about more than Sam’s leaving. Because Dean had accepted that, he hadn’t moved past it, but he’d accepted it. And he’d tried not to hold it against Sam, because he knew that it was better for his brother to go. To find his own way. He wished now more than ever he’d told Sam that and left him at Stanford, instead of bringing this pain back into his life.

 

xXx

 

His heart clenched with hope and disgust. How could he even think of asking Dean to make this better? To comfort him when he’d denied Dean the comfort of family for over two years?

 

He shook his head furiously. For once he wasn’t going to be the selfish one. He was going to be a man and deal with this on his own. He tried to stand, shakily making it halfway off the floor before landing back in Dean’s lap.

 

Groaning, he tried again. This time before he could fall he found Dean’s hands gently tugging him back down. Strong arms wrapped around his waist and holded him to his chest. Warm breath cascaded over the back of his neck as Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

 

“I can’t do anything if you won’t let me,” he implored.

 

He’d give anything to be able to tell Dean what he needs but even he couldn’t be that selfish. He didn’t deserve it after all the lives he’d ruined. It was like everything he touched was suddenly cursed. He wouldn’t let that extend to Dean anymore than it already had.

 

Dean shifted his body and took a firm grip on Sam’s chin, forcing him to return his gaze. “Sam, tell me.”

 

He sucked in a sharp breath and simply stared. It was the only thing he could do. Stare at his brother. Years had gone by since he’d been this close to Dean, since he’d been able to really look at him. He searched Dean’s face, memorizing every line and every flawed perfection in case this was the last chance he ever had.

 

Dean’s fingers dug into his hips, trying to urge him on. All it did was remind Sam of how many different ways he’d imagined a moment like this and realize that none of them had ever been like this.

 

His brother’s moss green eyes were staring back into his, confusion and worry taking the place of the mischievous sparkle he normally had. His mouth was pulled down into a frown instead of his usual breath taking smirk, the light sprinkling of freckles seeming to stand out more at his expression.

 

Without thinking he raised a hand and brushed it lightly over Dean’s face, drawn to those freckles. Growing up they’d been one of his biggest kinks about Dean. So much that sometimes he’d go weeks without looking at his brother because he was afraid of how strong his desire to touch them was.

 

Now, with years of frustration, need, and a half bottle of tequila in his system he couldn’t resist the pull any longer. Dean jerked back slightly at first and then relaxed, almost leaning into his touch.

 

“I hate this,” he said so softly he wasn’t even sure he’d said it out loud. The tortured look on Dean’s face told him he had said it.

 

“Hate what?”

 

“Us,” he answered simply. Too tired to explain it any further. Dean didn’t have to ask anyway, he knew what Sam hated. He had made it clear time and time again.

 

xXx

 

Dean hated them too. And like Sam he didn’t know how to fix things. He just knew he wanted things to change.

 

He leaned forward, lettings his forehead rest against Sam’s. “What do..” he stopped. How did he fix what he didn‘t know was broken? “I,” he tried again. “Things, humph-” His words were silenced this time not by confusion, but by a chaste kiss from Sam.

 

Dean’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, had just happened. Sam looked as stunned as he did, licking his lips nervously as it sank in. He felt more than saw Sam try and pull away. Dean’s arms locked around him keeping him from moving more than an inch or so off his lap. He stared blindly at him as Sam struggled weakly against his hold.

 

A kiss. Sam had kissed him. It had been brief and if it had happened in front of anyone else under normal circumstances might have seemed brotherly, but that wasn’t how it felt.

 

It had felt as if he’d been struck by lighting. Every one of his nerves on fire with that soft brush of lips. So hot in fact he felt as if his brain had melted with the intensity of that innocent kiss.

 

He slowly shook himself from it’s mind numbing hold and pulled Sam firmly back between his legs. Sam had to have felt it, he had to of or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to get away from him.

 

What he didn’t know was why Sam had done it in the first place. To silence him or because the alcohol coursing through his system had taken away every instinct except the one to find comfort? And Sam had always found comfort in Dean’s touch. He’d known how to work his brother from the very beginning, whether Sam realized it or not.

 

It had been the one thing that could calm Sam down no matter what. It was like all his brother’s protests just disappeared and for that reason it had always been his fall back. When words or looks didn’t work, touch did.

 

That obviously hadn’t changed.

 

“Everything’s going to be fine, Sammy,” he said quietly. “I’ll make this better somehow.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the kiss or just everything else. It just felt like the right words somehow.

 

Sam seemed to feel the way same way, because he relaxed almost immediately. A soft sigh parting his lips. He held him like that until he felt his body start to ache, urging him to end this and put them both to bed. But he listened to his body as much as he did his head, in short, he followed his heart right until it shattered.

 

“Sammy,” he breathed, his lips skimming down the side of Sam’s neck. “You have to stop blaming yourself for everything. Even you can’t control things sometimes. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

 

His brother laughed softly and tilted his head back to look at him. His tear stained cheeks flushed with relief. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “I’ve got you, Sammy.”

 

Before he reconsider he sealed his mouth over Sam’s and took his chaste kiss a step further.

 

xXx

 

Sam sat unmoving for what felt like an eternity before the fact that Dean was kissing him kicked in. Disgust, confusion- that was what he expected from Dean. Not this. Who was he to argue with his older brother though? He wound his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him in closer.

 

Sam could feel his body relaxing and growing tenser with each kiss and gentle swipe of Dean’s tongue. He was running short on oxygen, but not even that could pull him away from his brother’s mouth. This was what he needed, what he had wanted since he’d come back.

 

Dean. Anything Dean could give him, could make him feel. It was like coming home again, really coming home. To open arms and understanding, instead of the cool indifference and anger that lurked just beneath the surface.

 

“We’ll get through this like everything else,” Dean murmured between kisses. “I’ll always be here, Sam.”

 

_Promise_ , is what he wanted to ask. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. To risk the chance that Dean might realize his mistake and pull away again. Besides that it was hard enough to think with Dean’s hands stroking down his sides and tugging at his t-shirt. One hand slid back up to cup his jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek. The other toyed with the waistband of Sam’s boxers. His brother’s grip on his heart tighter than ever.

 

xXx 

 

Dean knew this wrong and still he was doing it. He was kissing his kid brother and not in the _it’s okay, go back to sleep, Sammy,_ kind of way. In the _how long before you lose the pants_ , kind of way. The _wrong way_ to be kissing Sam. 

 

Well, he wasn’t kissing Sam _wrong_ , no he was definitely doing that right. But he was kissing Sam, he was kissing the wrong person. Kissing this person could only lead to heartache and regret. Not to mention a few too many bottles of whatever alcohol he just happened to grab. He wouldn’t be particularly picky, not with the way things were going. Not to mention _where_ they were going.

 

Sam’s hand moving down his cheek to rest against his neck as his hips lifted ever so slightly from the floor, reminded him of that. Kissing led to touching and touching led to, well things he shouldn’t be doing with his brother. He might have been able to push that to the back of his mind and keep things going a little while longer if Sam’s hips hadn’t shifted against his erection and his teeth hadn‘t come out to nip at his bottom lip, ripping a low groan from his throat.

 

No, there was no way to keep this going and not run head first into this proverbial brick wall. He had to stop this before Sam realized it first and accused him of taking advantage. After all Sam _was_ the one with enough alcohol in him to let this happen, Dean was just fucked.

 

He quickly removed his mouth and hands from Sam reluctantly and schooled his features as best he could. There was no use in making Sam feel guilty for something that was entirely his fault.

 

xXx

 

Blinking slowly, the haze of bliss clouding his senses quickly disappeared. Dean’s face looked almost panicked and scared, disgust slowly creeping into his eyes. Sam’s stomach clenched, his breath caught in his throat. _No, no, no_. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not now, not after what they had just done.

 

He reached for his older brother, leaning up to nip at his bottom lip. He had to bring him back, bring back the light kisses, the soft touches and God, those sweet murmurings.

 

Dean hadn’t said things like that to him since he was a child, since he woke up crying in the middle of the night or shaking from whatever nightmare.

 

“Sam,” he said shaking his head as he pulled back.

 

He paused, waiting for his brother to voice his fear or regret. Whichever was weighing him down now. Either Dean didn’t know what to say or he couldn’t bring himself to say it, because all he managed next was to shift his gaze to the motel room door that was still open if he remembered correctly.

 

“What happened-” Sam tried, hoping to stop things from snowballing into another argument complete with the silent treatment. If Dean wasn’t going to try and stop things before they got started, he would. Because he wasn’t sure how much more tequila he could take.

 

Dean didn’t want to hear it though. He shook his head again and pushed to his feet, holding his hands out to Sam, making it clear that this was going to be forgotten or at least put off.

 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

 

Bed? He didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to talk this out before it became just another thing between them they couldn’t fix or forget.

 

xXx

 

“Dean,” Sam tried again. “It’s-”

 

“Time for you to get some sleep,” he interrupted. “You’ve had way too much to drink.” _We both have_ , he thought sullenly.

 

Why couldn’t Sam get that he didn’t want to talk about this? That talking about it, by acknowledging it, they were just creating more problems for themselves. Another thing to add to the list of betrayals and mistakes.

 

Clearly irritated Sam took his hand anyway and stood up shakily. He’d definitely had too much to drink. Shaking his head at both their stupidities, he threw an arm around Sam’s waist and pulled his left arm over his shoulder.

 

He leaned heavily on Dean, protesting that he didn’t need any help and taking it all the same. Dean decided not to point this out because he really didn’t want to deal with an indignant or childlike Sam tonight. Things had already become too complicated.

 

He set Sam down on the bed and pushed him back each time he sat up, staring pointedly at him. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t have a conversation or understand that Dean meant business, he was just being stubborn.

 

Resigning himself to the fact that Sam was going to fight him on this until one or the other passed out from exhaustion he slid his hand beneath Sam’s shirt, stroking his thumb back and forth.

 

“Sleep, Sam,” he ordered gently. “I’m not going anywhere.“ He watched as Sam visibly relaxed at his touch. His face emptying of it’s stubborn protests and his breathing becoming deeper, more relaxed as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

 

Sinking back against the side of the bed, he buried his head in his hands. How had things gotten so off course? Earlier he’d been angry, had every right to be angry, and then suddenly just the sight of Sam’s heart breaking had him back to begging for Sam’s affections. It was like they were kids all over again and Dean wasn’t sure he could handle a repeat of that end.

 

_Upside down and inside out._

_When I leave here I'm going alone._

_But I'm dying, I'm dying to touch._

_And it's not like, it not like it hurts much anyway._


End file.
